


Circle of Stone

by EvilMuffins



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lost in the Woods, M/M, Neck Kissing, hinted berkut/rinea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: If they had been in one of those damn hero stories Forsyth used to love so much, Python would have leapt forward in ample time, dramatically pushing his partner out of harm's way before leading them back to camp for a warm mug of cider.Python was no hero.
Relationships: Fols | Forsyth/Python
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Circle of Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaraJaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraJaye/gifts).



For someone who spent every waking second (and a considerable portion of his sleeping moments as well, if his nocturnal muttering were to be believed) of his childhood pining after a life in the Zofian army, Forsyth certainly was happy to be away from their encampment for the day.

“Fors...” Python groaned, leaning backward against the counter. “If all you really wanted out of life was to become Clive's personal shopper, I think the both of us certainly could have skipped out on all that weapons training...” And the killing people. There was always that, too. The sobering notion always looming just behind them like one of those damned Terrors. Even if Python held his tongue about it, at the end of the day, that was their reality now.

“That's _Sir_ Clive,” Forsyth corrected automatically, still engrossed with perusing the goods out on display. 

They had already managed to track down everything on the list that Clive had given them, and Python would know, as he was the one roped into holding the bags while Forsyth continued to browse for Mila-knows-what. For someone who never seemed to shut his trap, Forsyth was being unusually tight-lipped as to what he was searching for. At least it wasn't another bouquet of flowers, like Clive had tasked them with obtaining. Python had suggested the moment they set out that the two of them just pick a handful from the field, but of course Forsyth insisted on finding a proper florist. They settled half-way by making their purchase from a young flower girl's basket.

Had Mr. Perfect Pauldrons himself done something to upset his lady love? Python mused. Why else go through the trouble of getting his hands on such a silly present in the middle of a war? Python tried to imagine himself presenting Forsyth with freshly picked flowers following one of his famous scolding sessions over Python failing to pull his weight around camp again. The very idea made Python snort. Usually, they just fucked and all was forgiven.

“Hey, watch it, pal!” Python complained, a towering, cloaked man jostling him out of his thoughts. “Must not speak Zofian,” he muttered under his breath after receiving nothing in the way of acknowledgment as the man began to browse the wares.

The market stall seemed to be something of a pawn shop situation, from what Python had seen before growing bored. Everything from jewelry to ornate daggers were out on display, but whatever it was that had caught Forsyth's eye, he was now being crowded away from by the stranger.

“Excuse me, good sir,” Forsyth remarked politely.

Whether the man was about to move out of Forsyth's way or not (probably not), Python would never know as a sudden clap of thunder shook the entire market. The soft droplets of rain falling against Python's face just as quickly began to pick up the pace until they sounded akin to the roar of a wyvern.

“ _Shit_...” Suddenly Python envied the cloaked man's choice in garment that day. “Fors, as much fun as this is, I think we should get the fuck outta here.”

Forsyth gazed forlornly upward, as if the black clouds would take pity on him and stop. “I suppose you're right...”

“C'mon,” Python nodded toward the trees lining the edge of the market. “We can cut through here.”

Hefting their bags and taking off at a jog, Python splashed into the thick of the forest, Forsyth right behind him.

* * *

“Python...” Forsyth began uncertainly after time enough had passed for their jerkins and boots to be soaked straight through, their hair clinging stubbornly to their foreheads. Python never had never enjoyed the feeling of a chill working its claws into his bones. He had always much preferred the company of a warm crackling fire instead. “Are you sure you know where we're going?”

“Back to camp, of course,” Python drawled, stealing a surreptitious glance around him. Everything looked so different in the gloom, the boughs of the trees weighed down above them with the force of the deluge.

Forsyth came to a halt, crossing his arms as he fixed Python with a stern expression. “You know what I mean.”

Generally, that exasperated pout of his would earn a grin in return from Python before pulling Forsyth in for a kiss. At the moment however, all it did for Python was add to the sinking sensation in his stomach. He scrunched his eyes shut, attempting to wipe the rain water out of them with his sleeve to no avail. “Just lemme think for sec...”

Thunder rang out again, this time however a second crack followed, much closer. Python opened his eyes just in time to see an enormous branch come crashing down on top of Forsyth.

“ _Fors_!” Python shouted.

If they had been in one of those damn hero stories Forsyth used to love so much, Python would have leapt forward in ample time, dramatically pushing his partner out of harm's way before leading them back to camp for a warm mug of cider.

Python was no hero.

Failing to find any traction on the sodden ground, slick with wet leaves, Python careened face-first into the mud, the bags from the market flying in either direction.

“Shit, shit, _shit_!”

Scrabbling back onto his feet, Python ignored the pain in his ankle as he rushed over toward where Forsyth lay groaning on the ground.

He had managed to pushed the fallen limb of himself and was still conscious, Python noted thankfully as he knelt down, attempting the quell the pounding in his chest. “After all those close scrapes in battle, to finally be done in by a tree branch...” Python chuckled weakly, tentatively placing a hand on Forsyth's forearm.

To his sheer and utter relief, Forsyth returned his smile. “I'm fine,” he reassured, placing his hand over top Python's, before attempting to push himself up on to his elbows. “Just give me a moment to-” He cried out, yanking his arm away from Python in order to clutch at his opposite shoulder.

For all the water cascading down around them, Python's mouth went dry. “Can you stand?”

Forsyth nodded reassuringly. “It's just my shoulder. Guess the branch hit harder than I thought...”

Gently placing his arm beneath Forsyth's uninjured shoulder, Python helped him to his feet, ignoring his own ankle throbbing all the while. “Up we go, big guy.”

Wallowing in the mud wasn't going to get Forsyth back to camp and into Silque's care. Python couldn't help but snort softly to himself. It always seemed like no matter what he did, his feelings for Forsyth were the prevailing motivation. While Python knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he never would have joined the Deliverance if he had never met and fallen in love with Forsyth, as the two soldiers trudged on through the forest, Python couldn't help his panic-muddled imagination from conjuring up various scenarios in which he faced the Rigelians without his best-friend-turned-lover by his side. They all ended with his head firmly affixed to the end of a pike.

Python's grim reverie was soon interrupted by a sharp laugh of glee that likely would have been followed by a powerful clap on his back, if Forsyth's pike arm wasn't hanging limply by his side. “Would you look at that!”

Fairies were among the long list of things that Python didn't believe in, tucked somewhere between 'Fairness' and ' _Fathers who aren't pieces of shit'_... Or maybe right before. Spelling skills never helped anyone to string a bow, after all.

Either way, the sight before them looked for all the world like a human-sized fairy's hut. With little regard to any curse that may be laid upon him, Python stepped unceremoniously into the stone circle in order to take a closer look at the make-shift roof.

Sticks had been bundled together tightly with cord, then covered thickly in moss covered tarp, the entire thing suspended between two tree trucks in order to shelter two tree stumps that had been placed a foot or so apart.

“Do you suppose children made this?” Forsyth said, voice full of quiet wonder as he ran the hand of his good arm along the inside of the roof.

Python shrugged. “I guess so, sure.” He dropped himself heavily onto one of the stumps, hoping Forsyth didn't notice him gritting his teeth as his ankle rebelled against being crossed over his considerably less-swollen one.

Forsyth followed suit, wincing visibly as he did so. “Remember when we used to build things like this?”

“You mean like when we set up camp last week?” Python yawned. The sound of the rain would have been soothing if they hadn't both been lost and in pain.

Forsyth ignored him, smiling fondly while still clutching at his arm. “We'd sneak some of your father's carpentry boards out into the woods, along with some sheets and pillows and make ourselves a fine fort!” He spoke louder than ever so as to be heard over the rain. It was a wonder he didn't injure his throat as well.

Python sighed fondly, plucking up a stick off the ground.

“What you mean is,” Python corrected, putting more effort into drawing a square in the dirt than he had to potato peeling duty the previous night, another task which Forsyth had generously (and loudly) taken over. “ _I_ stole the wood and got an earful for it, while you built the 'fort' around me and I lounged in the grass.”

“True,” Forsyth conceded, a wistful smile playing over his face.

The conversation lulled for a moment, the lack of chatter from Forsyth settling into the pit of Python's stomach. He topped off his mud doodle with a triangle perched above the square, and a little squiggle of smoke coming out the chimney. As he tossed the stick aside, he noticed the two bags he had propped up against his stump.

“Guess we could always eat Mathilda's flowers if we get hungry.”

Forsyth wasn't impressed by the suggestion.

“Say,” Python tried again to fill the air. He never was a conversationalist. “What was it you were looking so hard for in the market place just now? My birthday present?” In truth, Python was one to forget his own birthday nearly every year, only to be reminding by Forsyth waking him up at the crack of dawn to celebrate.

Forsyth's lips drew into a faint pout, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks, as if he had been truly found out. “Well...” He hesitated. “It was for you...”

“Huh?” Python couldn't believe he was right. Of course people in relationships buy each other things, but they were in the middle of a war, and most of all, he in no way deserved whatever it was. What had he ever done for Forsyth, when you really got down to it?

“It was...”Forsyth took a deep breath, whether due to the pain or sorting his thoughts, Python wasn't entirely sure. “I was searching for a ring, if you must know.”

Python blinked.

“Thought ya said we were waiting till after the war,” he said quietly.

Had the horrors of combat finally gotten to Forsyth? If that were the case, Python wasn't certain he could keep on doing what they did each and every day. Forsyth's eternal optimism was the only thing guiding his bow string from day one. If even he thought it was the time to tie up lose ends before it was too late...

“We are!” Forsyth squawked, alarmed by the notion. “I mean, I am. I just... I see how you get sometimes. I may be a love-sick fool but I'm not blind, Python. I thought that a ring might be a token. Something to remind you when you look at it that we will come through this alive. Both of us, together.”

If anyone else had said it, Python would have laughed in his face. Forsyth was idealistic, and cheesier than a wheel of pegasus cheese. ...And Python loved him for every bit of it.

If Forsyth was a self-professed fool, then Python was the even bigger one. “Should have done this sooner,” he mumbled, tugging off both his jerkin and the linen shirt underneath it.

Forsyth watched in mild bemusement as Python did his best to fold the damp cloth shirt into a makeshift sling.

“I'm no healer,” he stated needlessly, helping to guide Forsyth's arm into it.

“Thank you,” Forsyth said earnestly, and it took everything Python had to stop himself from confessing to Forsyth that he didn't deserve any sort of thanks for having been too wrapped up in his own head to tend to him when he first should have.

Instead, he smirked. “Like what ya see?” he teased, backing up a step when he noticed Forsyth's eyes on his bare chest.

“Of course I do.”

Such a matter-of-fact answer should hardly have been anything approaching sexy, and yet Python found himself climbing onto Forsyth's lap, careful of his arm of course.

“What's this?” Forsyth laughed.

“Takin' yer mind off that arm,” Python murmured against Forsyth's jaw. “Is it workin' yet?”

“I would say so,” Forsyth managed just before Python's mouth closed over his own.

Wrapping his arms round Forsyth's back, Python's lips trailed lazily down Forsyth's throat, drawing out a soft moan. The vibrations against his lips spurred Python onward, reaching the crook of Forsyth's neck and reveling in the resulting shudder when Python opened his mouth, tasting the lingering rain water on his tongue.

“Better?” he asked, pulling away to search Forsyth's face.

“Hmm...” Forsyth's thoughtful expression was betrayed by the flush of his cheeks. “I dare say that I'm fully recovered!”

“Fantastic.” Python climbed off of Forsyth, before offering an arm to hoist him up.

“...Or maybe not,” Forsyth admitted after cringing in pain again.

“Ya know...” Python pointed out, “If a bunch of kids built this thing, it can't be all that far from town. I think what we did was make a big ol' circle.”

He stuck a hand out of the stick fort, wriggling his fingers experimentally out in the open air. It seemed that the weather had subsided while they were otherwise occupied.

“It's stopped?” Forsyth asked, coming to stand beside him, wrapping his good arm round Python's waist.

Python clucked his tongue. “I'd say Alm and the rest could wait till tomorrow to hear from us while we grab a cozy little room at the inn. We gotta get you to Silque though...”

“I'll take a ' _rain check_ ' on it then,” Forsyth promised with a grin, before the two hobbled out in what was (hopefully) the direction of the village.

* * *

Berkut tossed his cloak aside, letting it fall wetly to the foyer tiles. The maid would take it care of it in due time. His attention at the moment was fully afforded to the small box tucked safely in his breast pocket. Thank Duma it had been spared from the weather. With the deliberate care that he reserved for only one person, Berkut opened the box to inspect the glistening ring. It had been well worth bumping elbows with those filthy Zofians after all...


End file.
